Father's Day
by Bananna
Summary: Will had never given much thought to the fact that his father was a significant part of his daily life. The Commander had taken for granted he saw his son every day. How does knowing Warren change things?
1. The Mall

Saturday.

A day held sacred by teens world wide, school year and summer alike. It was the day when no adult would hold a teen to anything…except maybe mowing the lawn. A day when teens could sleep in as long as they wanted, watch what TV they wanted, or get out of the house with out a third degree interrogation.

Except for those who had jobs.

Warren had a job. It wasn't your typical arrangement; the owner of the restaurant was an old family friend. So it was more helping out than an actual job, but it sure beat being home alone. It used to be that he would work the morning shift then go spend some quality time in the local library. Then go home. Sometimes his mother would be home and they would have dinner together, like a real family…sort of.

That was before the conspiracy began.

What conspiracy you ask.

Friends.

At least that is what the gaggle that followed him around like lost puppies decided they were. And unfortunately his boss, old family friend, Mrs. Chang, grandmotherly type that she was…thought it was wonderful.

Which meant that his Saturday shift was history.

And what is it that replaced his Saturday shift?

"Ok." Ethan said, "Superman vs. Gladiator?"

"Superman dude!" Zack answered enthusiastically.

"Gladiator." Magenta answered.

"No way, Superman could totally kick Gladiator's trash." Zack stood by his opinion.

"All Gladiator would need is a pebble of Kryptonite." Will said, "And Superman would be toast."

Warren rolled his eyes and continued to subtly guide the group toward the bookstore. He was almost ready to tell Mrs. Chang that he'd take dishwashing over this any day. Not that she would listen to him. She was the one that practically forced him to come. What kind of boss does that?

"But Superman is an American icon." Zack protested, "Gladiator is some obscure alien form some random planet in another galaxy."

"Superman isn't form Earth either." Warren mumbled.

"What was that?" Layla asked. She had latched onto his arm as soon as she saw him after the lot of them exited Ethan's mom's minivan. She had ostensibly explained that it was so that he wouldn't accidently ditch them. Everyone except for Magenta believed it. Magenta however knew, well at least suspected, what Layla's real motivation was.

Warren just glared at her and went back to pretending to ignore the group of teens and trying to guide them toward the bookstore.

"Ooooo." Will blurted out. "Smoothies!" and then ran off toward the new smoothie stand, unknowingly thwarting Warren's plans to spend the rest of the afternoon in the bookstore.

The group followed, Layla dragging a scowling Warren with her.

It took a few minutes but the group eventually had their smoothies. Will had the Peach Mango Tango. Magenta had the Blueberry Extravaganza. Zack ordered the Pinacolada and Ethan the Orange Julius. Layla ordered the Wheat Grass Carrot Jubilee. Everyone was rather surprised, but wisely didn't comment, when Warren ordered the Strawberry Banana Gala. They commandeered two of the small tables near the stand and pushed them together to continue their debate.

"How bout this one?" Zack said after taking a long sip form his Pinacolada. "Batman vs. James Bond?"

There was silence while the group enjoyed their smoothies and contemplated the proposed match up.

"Bond." Warren unexpectedly answered. As he had yet to contribute anything but snide comments about their ability to think, the group was understandably stunned. But they were floored as well as baffled by his choice.

None of them could come up with a suitably intelligent rebuttal so they just looked at him expectantly for an explanation.

"Bond will blend in; Batman has to dress up in a stupid costume before he can act. Not to mention that Bond wouldn't have any qualms about just shooting the guy." Warren said after rolling his eyes and returned to enjoying his smoothie. "That and Bruce is squeamish around guns."

"Bruce?" Will asked with eyebrows raised.

Warren threw him a look that said don't push it.

"Great." Magenta deadpanned, "Now we won't get anything out of him for another month."

Warren shifted his death glare to the purple goth. Knowing there wasn't any heat behind the glare, she just stuck her tongue out at him before returning her attention to her Blueberry Extravaganza.

"Dude," Zack said, "You can't disrespect the Batman like that."

Warren didn't even bother to acknowledge him.

"As stimulating as this conversation has been." Layla said, "I still need to find something for my dad."

Yes folks, it was the third Saturday of June. Which meant the next day was the third Sunday of June…Father's Day. The small group of teens were still leery of mentioning family matters around their reticent friend, but they weren't as hypersensitive about it as they had been the first week after homecoming. And because they were all worried about their own procrastination, they failed to really digest the situation, else they probably would have opted for a different Saturday activity and left the shopping to their mothers.

"I just got my dad a tie." Zack said.

"That is so lame." Magenta said, "I was going to pick up season 3 of 'Sons of Anarchy'. Dad's been going on about it for weeks."

"I was thinking about stopping by Ultimate Aquarium and picking up some decorations for the 50 gallon fish tank he just ordered." Ethan said.

"Mom's going to pick something up for me," Will said. "I think she enjoys the chance to do something so normal."

"What are you getting for your dad?" Zack asked. The question was out of his mouth before he realized who he had directed it toward. He along with the rest of the group froze; each of them oscillating between terrorized horror and morbid curiosity.

Warren fixed Zack with a muted glare. The second he saw the kid's face freeze he was certain that he had asked before he thought. But that just went to show how much this particular group of kids had come to think of him as normal. And as much as habit told him to, he really couldn't bring himself to hold it against them.

So instead of tearing into the human glowstick, and before he (not as roughly as he once would have) extricated himself from Layla's grip, he growled "A visit." He then walked away, toward the bookstore that he had tried to guide the gaggle of teens toward earlier.

The others sat in awkward silence.

"So." Will dared to break the awkward silence. "Since you still have some shopping to do, I guess I'll brave the fire breathing dragon this time."

Layla gave him a look that clearly said she wasn't amused by his name for Warren's bristly mood; however accurate it may have been.

Will took one last dramatic sip from his smoothie, making sure that he got every last drop with the straw. Unaware of his dramatic posturing and the group rolling their eyes at his antics; he silently gave them one last goodbye before bravely heading toward his doom…er…following his friend.

Layla and Magenta both shook their heads. "Don't think he'll have a problem getting the lead in next years play." Magenta remarked dryly.

Layla daintily snorted her amusement and then said, "Stick together or split up?"

"We should probably split up." Ethan said. "We'd be able to complete our shopping faster and be available to back up Will in case he needs it."

"Don't think he will." Zack said in one of his rare moments of insight, "Warren would never burn down a bookstore."

"No," Layla agreed, "but he might do something to Will."

There was a moment of contemplation.

"Ok the." Magenta said, "Meet at the book store in 30 minutes?"

Everyone nodded and then they split in their different directions to get their father's their presents.


	2. The Conversation

A little on the repressed emotional side of things…possibly out of character…but every now and then the strong, silent types get a soft spot.

Will approached the Book Store with a healthy dose of apprehension. He had no idea what he was doing. Warren had warmed up to them sure, but his family seemed to still be a topic that was way off limits. Heck, the guy didn't even talk about his mother except the infrequent off hand cryptic comment about something or another that somehow related to his mother. And he always called her Mother, never Mom or any other variation on the title.

He shook his head. Warren's eccentric behaviors about his Mother weren't what he needed to be focusing on right now. What he needed to focus on now was Warren's slightly violent tendencies when the subject of his father came into play. This was a public place after all; he had a duty to keep the body count and the collateral damage to a minimum. He grimaced as he calculated the successful probability of being able to lure the prickly teen to a less populated area to vent…not so good.

Will paused in the entrance of the store. He had no real idea of which part of the store he would find the other teen in. He stood on his tiptoes, just barely remembering to keep them on the ground. He was dismayed to find that the shelves were rather tall, and that he would not be able to use Warren's height to find him. So with increasing trepidation he began his search.

Will finally found him in a little corner of the fiction section, near the back of the store. He wasn't sure what he expected to find. But he almost did a double take upon seeing his friend standing still as a statue, staring at a shelf of books at his eye level.

"Hey." Was his eloquent greeting. Warren didn't respond, didn't even give any indication that he had heard.

So Will waited.

He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had picked up on a few things as the school year had progressed and summer had come. He had learned that most of the time, if showed genuine interest and gave him the space, Warren would come to you. Well, if he was going to be honest, it was Layla's mother that had pointed that out to him.

After a rather…interesting…study session that ended rather abruptly with Warren not talking to any of them for well over a week and a half (when the guy gave you the silent treatment, he gave you the silent treatment), Mrs. Williams had pulled him out to the garden to help with the weeds. And told him rather plainly that Warren was very much like a cat.

"If you run toward a cat all loud and frantic, it will run from you or bite you. But if you are still and quiet, it will come to you." She had said. Which was after he didn't grasp the importance of her pointing out that a cat will ignore the person in the room that wants to interact with it, but go straight for the one person in the room that is trying to avoid it because they're allergic to it.

So Will got comfortable, leaning against one of the shelves, eyes searching for any sign of response from his friend. After a few minutes of silence, he was rewarded for his efforts.

"I don't approve what my Father did. It was wrong…he went too far." He paused to give Will the time he needed for his words to sink in.

"But he's still my Father…and I still love him." His voice was no louder than a whisper, but no less forceful than if he had shouted.

They stood in silence again, Warren staring at the bookshelf and Will now staring at the floor.

"Tell me." Will requested in the same quiet tone that Warren had spoken in earlier.

Will was beginning to think that Warren was going to ignore him, shut him out completely, when he finally moved. He brought his hand up to rub the spine of a particular book on the shelf he had been staring at.

"He'd read this to me before bed." He said. "And when we finished this, we read the trilogy. Then we moved on to the John Carter series." He half pulled the book off the shelf.

"He hates water." Warren continued after a pause. "Really hates it…but he taught me how to swim. He'd bring Mother strawberries and help her cook dinner. We'd paly hide and seek. He was always there when I was sick." He listed off some good memories.

Will listened in silence, grateful for this rare and calm glimpse into his best friend's life.

"We were happy."

Silence fell again.

"It's not people comparing you to him that gets you mad," Will finally said in a rare moment of clarity and understanding. "It's that they assume that they know you and your dad. They assume the type of person that he is, and by extension you. And they fill in the blanks with what ever suits their view of who he is."

"Sometimes you're not as dumb as you look." Warren confirmed Will's epiphany. Warren returned his gaze to the self before him and pushed the book back into place, finger still lingering on the spine.

Will couldn't help the grunt of protest. Then, hesitantly, unsure of how his next words would be received. "If you want…you can come ot our barbeque tomorrow, you know, after you visit your dad and everything."

Warren gave him a sharp, appraising look. After a minute of letting the other teen squirm under his scrutiny, he shook his head with a sigh.

"I don't hate your dad for putting him in prison." Warren said flatly, "But it's hard to forgive him for taking my Dad away from me."

Will nodded, "I can understand that." He said, meeting his friend's eyes.

Warren pulled the book off the shelf that his finger had been resting on and tossed it to Will. "Read that. It's better than that Harry Potter crap that you've been toting around for the last year." Then walked away.

Will let him go and looked at the book he had been given.

"The Hobbit." He read aloud. He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the cashier.

Ten minutes later the rest of the gang found him sitting against the wall just outside the bookstore reading a book.

"I take it he left." Layla said.

"Yup." Will answered as he got up.

"No death or damage?" Magenta asked.

"Nope." Will answered as he stowed his new possession.

"Told you he likes books more than people." Zack said.

"That was never really in dispute." Ethan said.

The whole group exchanged a glance and shrugged in unison. And in silent agreement they all headed to the exit as Magenta pulled out her phone.

"Hey mom," she said, "Yah, we're done here. Can you come pick us up?"


	3. Prison

There was a man that sat in a cell.

He had long dark hair that had a slight curl to it and olive toned skin that often made him look like he had a tan. These two traits hinted at Italian or Greek heritage somewhere in the family tree. He was tall to most and short to some, broad shouldered and well muscled. His dark brown eyes, if one was brave enough to look into them, shone with an intelligence some would call exceptionally dangerous and few would call slightly deranged. He had a strong jaw line that was covered in a perpetual scruff that slang referred to as a 5 o'clock shadow. His nose was broad but straight and perfectly proportioned to the rest of his handsome face. His thin lips were constantly drawn in an insufferable know it all smirk.

The guards feared him. There wasn't one in the prison that would admit it, but they did. They knew that the meager prison walls and bars weren't enough to hold the man. And in a prison specifically designed to hold the most powerful and most dangerous villains the world would ever know, that was a frightening thought in deed.

What kept the man in his cell was not the walls them selves nor the fences or the barbed wire. It was not the bars on the doors, nor was it the chains and cuffs that they would use when moving prisoners from cell to cell or other areas of the prison. Not even the power-dampening field put a cramp in this man's style, or plans. None of these things kept this man bound to serve out his triple life sentence.

Rather it was a promise he had made.

He had promised his son, his only child, that he would stay and serve his time. After all what was 75 years to someone who would live to be thousands? But there were precious few that knew how long he would live. And he was in no hurry to enlighten anyone else.

Time meant something entirely different to him. Years weren't really all that long. And in the boring monotony of prison life, they weren't really all that noticeable either. But the one thing that did force him to keep track of their passage was also the one thing that kept him there in prison. The judicial system that had foolishly locked him away, had granted him one visit per year.

He wasn't quite sure what the motivation behind that little bit had been, and he wasn't really interested in puzzling it out. But he was grateful, because once a year, he got to see his son. To most being able to see your child once a year for 30 minutes would be unbearable. But he didn't count time like the rest of the inmates did. So to him, in a way, it was almost like seeing his son every day. And now that his son had (hopefully) stopped growing, it wouldn't be such a shock to see the rapid changes in the growing boy.

"Battle!" a rough yell was tossed down the hall as a small gate was opened in the middle of a thick metal door. "You know the drill, hands palm up." The man was flanked by an entire team of guards dressed from head to toe in riot gear, shields up and batons at the ready. Every guard was briefed never to underestimate this particular inmate, never to become complacent when dealing with the man. The rookie of the bunch flinched as large, strong hands slowly appeared in the opening, palm up as requested.

The lead guard quickly tightened a pair of adamantium handcuffs around the tattooed wrists then quickly stepped back. "Unlock." The guard ordered and reached for his special issue Taser. There was a loud buzz followed by a clank as the door to the cell was unlocked. Another guard stepped up to slowly maneuver the door open. As the door swung open, Barry Battle followed until his knuckles brushed against the wall and his back was to the squad of guards in their riot gear.

"Don't move." The guard commanded as he bent down to place matching cuffs on his ankles.

Barry didn't respond. He rolled his eyes. Really, after eight years of this you would think they would stop jumping every time he blinked. He blamed it all on Stronghold and his propensity for hyperbole. He may have done a nasty thing or two to get in here, but he was by far not the worst person they had locked up in this merry little boarding school.

"Two steps back." Mr friendly ordered.

Barry obeyed without a word, and the guard swiftly clipped the chain in place that linked the anklecuffs and the handcuffs.

"No funny business." The guard ordered without looking him in the eye. Barry just smirked. And then off they went. The squad of riot dressed guards escorted him to a private and well-secured room not far from his cell. There he was extremely surprised to find the one and only Steven Stronghold, dressed in his ridiculous red, white, and blue costume.


	4. Coming to an Understanding

Steve stood as soon as Barry was brought in. The man had always annoyed him. He wasn't sure how anyone could pull of an arrogant swagger while chained hand and foot in an orange prison jumpsuit. But Barry seemed to pull it off.

"To what do I owe this displeasure?" Barry said before Steve could voice his own greeting and before the escort team could lock him into place at the table in the room.

Steve waited until the escort team was done and left the room before he answered.

"You make it very hard to want to be civil toward you." Steve said as the escort team left the room.

"Perhaps I've never had a desire to be on civil terms with you." Barry responded as he sat back in his chair, completely unruffled.

Steve made a face as he mentally counted to ten in order to rein in his indignation.

"Look," Steve bit out. "Up until a few months ago, I didn't really have any reason to be on civil terms with you either."

Barry just quirked an eyebrow.

"I don't know if you've been made aware," Steve continued, forcing himself to ignore the other man's silent antagonism. "But your wife went and made me and Jetstream your son's legal guardians for when she's not around."

"I'm aware." Barry confirmed. "I am permitted letters." Barry responded to Steve's slight look of surprise.

Steve bristled at Barry's condescending tone, but didn't rise to the bait. "You know, if you two didn't look so much alike I would never have guessed you were related."

Steve wasn't sure if he meant that as an insult, but Barry didn't take it as anything less than an amusing fact.

"I can assure you," Barry said with a slight quirk of a smile on his lips. "He is entirely his mothers son."

Steve drew his eyebrows down in confusion. "I'd think you'd be disappointed that he doesn't take after you."

At that Barry actually laughed. "My wife is far more dangerous than I am." He said with a smile.

The room was silent while Steve digested that remark, unsure of how much that remark should unsettle him.

"He's a good kid." Steve finally said.

Barry continued to smile. "Entirely his mother's doing."

"I'm sure." Steve said.

"Why are you really here Steve?" Barry asked.

There was silence again as Steve thought of his response to the abrupt question.

"I guess I just had to see." Steve said.

"As I said." Barry said, eyes shining with pride. "He is his mother's son."

"I suppose he is." Steve agreed, now able to see that the teen that had been staying with his family off and on over the past months was nothing like the man sitting before him. He blinked, realizing that though they were similar in appearance, they weren't copies.

They sat in silence again; Barry recalling fond memories of a young boy with a bright smile, and Steve finally putting together a few more pieces of the puzzle that was his son's best friend and his sometime charge.

"What's with always leaving his shoes at the door?" Steve's voice burst the silence.

Barry huffed in amusement. "A sign of respect for the home." He answered.

"And books?" Steve asked, "I wouldn't think someone like him would like to be around so much paper."

"We taught him from a young age that books are the doorways to knowledge." Barry said, his gaze slightly unfocused as if recalling a memory.

"Swimming?" Steve asked.

"I taught him." Barry quickly replied.

"You?" The disbelief in Steve's voice was thick.

"Yes." Barry let no emotion hint as to how he felt about that.

"The after school job?" Steve asked.

"Gives him something to focus on." Barry replied.

"Think he'd go to Hawaii with us?" Steve asked.

"He'd most likely ditch you to go SCUBA diving once you got there." Was Barry's analysis, hardly thrown by the seemingly random question.

"SCUBA?" Steve's eyebrows were having a reunion with his hairline.

"He thinks it's fun." Barry said. "His mother's fault. It's one thing to not fear water, but it's an entirely different thing to seek it out." It was really all he could do to suppress the shudder that threatened to betray his complete unease at the thought. "Of course if you went to the Big Island, you'd have to keep him away from the lava fields. I seem to remember him being quite fascinated with volcanoes not to long ago."

They let the impromptu question and answer session slide into silence until the guard came back to the door.

Steve blinked out of his thoughts and looked at the man sitting across from him. He was about a month behind his wife, but he had figured out that the teen that his son had practically adopted as his brother was not a second rendition of the man sitting before him.

"Take care of him?" Barry asked.

"Like he was my own." Steve found himself saying without hesitation. And if he was startled to realize that he had said so because he had genuinely become fond of the well-mannered, quiet teen that had been thrust into his life; he didn't let it show.

While one man walked out with new understanding of a child that was not his; the other sat in chains awaiting his yearly visit from his child.


End file.
